A Turn in the Road (Blossom Street #8)(60)

Soon afterward they turned off the light. It wasn’t long before Ruth’s steady breathing told Bethanne her mother-in-law was asleep.

Annie lay on her back, then shifted onto one side; she seemed unable to find a comfortable position. Something was bothering her and Bethanne guessed it was directly related to Vance.

“Have you heard from Vance lately?” Bethanne whispered. Annie had mentioned him only once since he’d left for his European adventure.

“Sort of,” Annie muttered, and bunched up her pillow with unnecessary force.

“How do you sort of hear from someone?”

“He sent me a text, which I ignored, and then he emailed me, but I haven’t answered that, either,” she said. “He told me he arrived safely and that he’s having a wonderful time. Well, good for him. He doesn’t need to rub it in.”

“But you’re having a good time, too,” Bethanne reminded her. “And you met Jason in Vegas, didn’t you?”

“Right.” The word was full of enlightenment. “I should let him know I’m not sitting at home pining after him.” She scrabbled for her cell phone on the nightstand, and although the room was dark, immediately started scrolling down her emails.

Annie paused and sent Bethanne a look of deep satisfaction. “There’s another email from Vance.”

“Oh? What did he say now?” Bethanne raised herself up on one elbow.

Annie seemed inordinately pleased. “That he’s miserable, homesick and sorry he ever left Seattle.”

“How does that make you feel?” Bethanne asked.

Annie’s returning smile was answer enough.

Nineteen

Grant Hamlin sat in his recliner and stared at the television. If anyone had asked him about the program, he couldn’t have said what he was watching. All he could think about was Bethanne.

He was losing her.

Even now, he couldn’t believe he’d told their daughter to leave Bethanne to her own devices, to let her reach her own conclusions. He’d said what he knew he had to say, as a parent and as a man who loved his ex-wife. But the words left him feeling ill. Yes, he wanted Bethanne to make the choice that was right for her—but he wanted that choice to be him.

What he’d told Annie was true. He loved Bethanne. Tiffany had come between them, but he’d let her do that. He took complete responsibility for his mistake. He hadn’t started out looking for an affair but he’d obviously been open to one. Tiffany had seemed vibrant, exciting, ambitious, and Bethanne, by comparison, had been…dull, mired in the tedium of domestic life. It appalled him that he’d been so blind, so selfish. He’d lost interest in their love life, too. Still, the affair had begun innocently enough. An office lunch that lasted nearly two hours. A simple kiss at a Christmas party. By Valentine’s Day, they were meeting in hotel rooms and Grant had the sexual stamina of a teenager. Perhaps not surprisingly, that changed shortly after they were married.

In retrospect, he knew it was unconscionable that he’d abandoned his family; walked away without a qualm or a doubt. And yet, he’d done exactly that.

At the time Grant had convinced himself he was lucky to escape when he did. He’d told himself that because Andrew was about to graduate from high school and Annie would join her brother in college the following year, neither child needed him any longer. How wrong he’d been to underestimate his children’s need for their father.

Grant rubbed the back of his neck. He’d quickly recognized his mistake in marrying Tiffany. And to compound the humiliation, she’d decided he’d been a mistake—too old, not successful enough, not as sexually adventurous as she wanted. The end of their marriage hadn’t come soon enough. After Tiffany moved out—oh, what a godsend—he’d been too embarrassed to approach Bethanne.

By then she’d started her business and it had taken off. Watching from the sidelines, he’d been impressed and astonished by how well she’d done.

In the past couple of years, Grant had eased his way, carefully, cautiously, back into his family’s life. Annie had accepted him without question. Andrew was a different story. His son wasn’t as willing to put the past behind them. Eventually, Grant hoped, Andrew would see that he was genuinely contrite and trust him again.

At least Andrew wasn’t openly antagonistic. He remained cool and withdrawn. Grant didn’t blame his son for being wary; it was what he deserved and he knew it. Andrew was his mother’s son for sure.

Thinking about him, Grant went into his small office in the sparsely decorated condo and reached for the phone. He checked his watch. It wasn’t quite nine. A bit late, but not too late to call Andrew. He had to look up the number—a sad commentary all on its own.

Andrew answered as if he’d been holding his cell. “Hello.”

“It’s Dad.”

“Anything wrong with Mom or Annie?” Andrew asked immediately. “Or Grandma?”

It hurt that Andrew assumed a phone call from Grant could only mean an emergency. “No. They’re in Branson, Missouri.”

“Last I heard they were in Vegas.”

“Yes, they arrived in Missouri this afternoon. Your grandmother took Annie to see Andy Williams.”

Andrew snickered. “I bet she loved that.”

“Not so much, I’m afraid.” He inhaled softly. “Listen, has anyone said anything to you about those bikers they met along the way?”